


you've got my time, you are my plans

by zenosungs (pastelkoma)



Category: Julie and The Phantoms (TV)
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Bad Days, Coping, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Reggie Has ADHD (Julie and The Phantoms), everyone loves reggie, neurodivergent reggie, not stated - Freeform, not stated but heavily implied, reg has a bad day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:21:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26812048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pastelkoma/pseuds/zenosungs
Summary: “What’s all the mumblin’ about?” Alex mutters, voice thick with sleep, and,oh no, I woke him up. Fuck. Everything is wrong with me and now Alex is awake, too…“Reggie is talking,” Luke explains shortly, and Reggie can’t miss the slight emphasis on the word talking, something to signify to Alex that this is because Reggie is on the teetering edge of Bad, and not because he’s an asshole who wants to ramble at 7 o’something in the morning.(OR: Reggie wakes up feeling, well, Bad. Luke and Alex are good to him, because they always are.)
Relationships: Alex & Luke Patterson & Reggie (Julie and The Phantoms), Luke Patterson/Reggie (Julie and The Phantoms)
Comments: 57
Kudos: 710





	you've got my time, you are my plans

**Author's Note:**

> uhhh hey! this is total self-projection onto one of the biggest comfort characters for me right now. he has a bad day, everyone loves him, everyone will give him the hugs he deserves. is internal ableism a thing? idk, but reggie copes and doesn't like how he does so, though everyone subtly lets him know to embrace it. they love him nonetheless.
> 
> also, they're all definitely nd but here we're focusing on reggie rn
> 
> also, lukereggie is def a thing but this is not a fic focused on romance so it's minor but believe me, they're a thing
> 
> my first jatp fic so lmk if u wanna see more from me! <3

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Can ghosts even still have bad days?

Reggie is still figuring out, like, ghost rules or whatever—everything is still falling into place for him, it’s admittedly a bit scary—even though he’s an uber mega cool ghost who can be sometimes solid and sometimes not (maybe even in between). He’s still figuring things out, but still. Still.

He didn’t know that he could still be capable of feeling so Bad. Bad, as in, a Bad Day with those capitalized letters because these don’t happen often; last they did, he was alive and well. He’s been feeling nothing but on top of the world lately, so this recent development is not one he had been expecting. Yet, here he is, an uber mega cool ghost still very capable of feeling Very Bad on a Very Bad Day.

It’s stupid. So unbelievably _stupid_.

He wakes up and it’s probably 7 in the morning, which is unusually early, as he blinks the sleep from his eyes and—

Fuck, something is wrong. He just woke up, something is wrong, it’s 7 in the morning and he feels like the world has turned on its axis. Which, of course, it has not. But it feels that way, and Reggie doesn’t like the moments where he _feels_ , because sometimes he feels too much all at once, or nothing at no times.

Today is the former, he can detect as he blinks the sleep from his eyes with a swallowed whimper. Something is terribly wrong, and there is no reason at all for there to be anything wrong, and still something is wrong. Everything is wrong. All of it; the way his shirt feels uncomfortably sticky against his chest, the way the sun is rising so slowly, the way Luke and Alex are snoring. It’s all wrong, wrong, _wrong_.

He had felt fine yesterday. Yesterday had been one of his “I’m on top of the world” days, which usually happen more often than not, but with his mind comes the swings between feelings and moods that are completely unpredictable. One moment is a good day, the next day can be a slump. 

He had forgotten the feeling, and now it’s back for no reason for its unwelcome return, and now he’s remembering it like the feeling had never left at all.

Or, maybe it never really didn't. Maybe it was just waiting under the surface of Reggie’s skin like a weird rabid animal that is waiting for the perfect moment to strike, and it did just that, which is probably why Reggie feels wrong in his skin and wants to run laps at 7 o’something in the early morning, because the animal in his belly is eating away at him.

It’s the best explanation, he decides as he runs a hand over his forehead, his sticky forehead, and suddenly the texture is a lot to handle and he flappy-shakes his hand to get rid of the sticky feeling, and then he flappy-shakes his other hand right with it because he can’t control himself and he’s twitching in his skin.

Gosh, and he thought he could feel normal, even after he’s literally _dead_. Turns out death does not warrant a free No Bad Days Anymore pass. 

And it’s not like he’s even feeling, like, _bad_ bad. He’s floating somewhere in between, like the edge of everything and the edge of nothing, feeling numb and yet feeling all of the world at one singular moment. It’s not fair of him to wake up in a shitty place when Alex and Luke are still busy sleeping and without a worry in the world—Reggie wishes he could have that, wishes he can fall back to sleep as he rubs his calloused fingers up and down the lengths of his exposed arms, feeling sticky and wrong wrong wrong _so wrong._

Alex and Luke shouldn’t have to deal with him when he’s like this. 

Well, of course they have all had their share of Bad Days (Luke quieting down and shutting himself away, Alex shaking with panicked tremors every couple of seconds) and, because that’s _them_ , it’s okay. Reggie is completely ready to drop anything and everything just to cheer them up, because that’s Alex and Reggie and absolutely everyone loves Alex and Reggie, even Julie, even Flynn. 

Reggie is, well, _Reggie_ , and everyone loves Alex and Luke because they’re just them, and no one loves Reggie as much as that because Reggie is just him. Like he says and reiterates, he’s ready to drop everything for them, and he doesn’t think anyone is as prepared to do that for him, though. 

It sounds stupid and it probably is because when his brain is all mushy like this, everything sounds numb and weird and stupid, and somewhere in there he _knows_ that Alex and Luke love him just as much, but that’s Reggie on a Good Day and today is far from that.

And because there is nothing else to do—unless he wants to just keep rubbing at his too-sticky skin—Reggie closes his eyes and tries to fall back asleep. Keyword: _tries_ , even though a part of him also knows that he’s not going to be able to sleep, even if he exhausts himself so so _so_ much. There’ll be that other part of him, the awake one, that keeps his mind moving and keeps making his brain short-circuit, which makes him unable to stay still and keep his mouth shut. And then when that happens, everyone will hate him, and then when everyone hates him, he won’t be surprised because he’ll hate himself, too, because he’s just _so much to manage on Bad Days—_

He breathes in, in, in, holds it for a few seconds too long and then breathes out, out, out, for a few seconds too short. 

Reggie’s fingers twitch with the sudden impulse to need to move, so he taps them on his thighs, in a steady tap-tap-tapping pattern; one finger at a time at the same speed, tingling the skin on his legs in some sort of busy type of comforting way, but it’s not enough. He still feels all sorts of wrong. All sorts of too much.

And because everything is wrong, he’s overcome with a terrible longing for some human touch, some skin-to-skin contact. A hug, or something. Hell, even just a pat on the head. Anything to ground him, to let others know that he isn’t okay right now and he’s spiraling into Bad Territory instead of just bad territory. It’s always like this, he’ll feel all prickly and drained and too energetic all at once, and he’ll crave physical touch then drink it in when he gets it. 

He can’t ask, not when no one can love him so much like everyone loves Luke and Alex—there goes the irrational part of him again, but he can’t stop himself from thinking this way—so he twitches and tap-tap-taps harder against his thighs. 

Fuck. He can’t stop himself, he’s going to spiral and then there will be no saving him, like a drowning fish, and that makes absolutely no fucking sense because fish can’t even drown and oh gosh he just needs to—needs to, like, _talk_ or _get a hug_ or—

Much to his dismay he rolls over and lightly nudges his forehead where Luke is, pressing himself against the exposed bicep (Luke sleeps in tank tops and radiates body heat when he’s unconscious) with a harsh swallow. He doesn’t want to do this, but he can’t restrain himself, not when he’s starting to feel unmistakably Bad and Luke is right there, _right there_.

Luke doesn’t budge, and after a quick lapse of judgment, Reggie nudges his forehead against the warm skin once again. 

This time Luke stirs, albeit slightly, grasping onto consciousness with a choked snore. He moves his arm, probably to pull it away from whoever is pressing against it (Reggie, in this case) when Reggie’s mind alarms start to blare and blare and blare—he wraps a shaky hand around Luke’s forearm, a silent _don’t move!_

“Mmm, wha—?” Luke mumbles, voice drenched with the remnants of sleep. He rubs his eyes with his free hand, “Reg? Tha’ you? Are you okay, man?”

What is Reggie supposed to say to that? “I’m okay”? “I’m gonna have a terrible day today”? “I want to scratch my skin off and cry”?

None of the options are too appealing, so Reggie settles for silence, which may be better because no words mean no lying to Luke, who will probably just pick up on his sour aura anyway. Instead of speaking Reggie hesitantly presses his face further into Luke’s arm, the skin smooth and a stark difference from Reggie’s too-sticky skin. It’s refreshing, even though Luke definitely doesn’t miss the unusualness of the action.

“Reg?” Luke tries again. He doesn’t move his arm, even when Reggie begins to do the tap-tap-tapping there, because Luke is a godsent angel who Reggie doesn’t deserve but he’s here anyway. The thought makes Reggie swallow harshly; the drumming of his fingers go faster.

Reggie squeezes his eyes shut and breathes in, in the way Alex taught him to do so because Alex had his own experiences with panic attacks and so when any of them experience one, he grounds them easily. Shaky, but easily. And that’s because Alex is also a godsent angel who Reggie doesn’t deserve, so even though he is asleep right now, he’s going to wake up and have to deal with Reggie. 

He drums his fingers faster.

Luke stays silent, picking up that maybe Reggie just needs quiet. It’s absurd, for someone who’s so loud all the time—

And that’s why Luke is wrong, because Reggie is brimming with unsaid words right now. If it’s a Bad Day, Reggie will start to talk and talk and ramble on about anything and everything. Not about anything in particular—in fact, a lot of his rambling is pointless—but it helped to get the Bad out of him. It doesn’t make him feel Good, but it empties him of the Bad, so in the end he’s just. Drained. An empty shell of Reggie, one that has to take a lot of time to regenerate until he feels okay again.

Reggie hates that. Hates these types of days.

He turns his face so that it’s more mushed into the pillow than Luke’s arm. The pillow smells like laundry detergent with the sheets freshly washed. It’s a smell that he can get used to. 

A shaky exhale is what gathers Luke’s attention again. Reggie wants to talk, wants to just empty himself of all that Bad that’s burning his insides and spreading fire throughout his chest. But he _can’t_ —he can’t be so selfish and put Luke or Alex through that, so he bites the inside of his cheek hard and stays silent.

“Reg, talk to me,” Luke says, like he knows. Maybe he does. He is Luke, after all. They are _family_ , after all.

Reggie shakes his head, desperate. _I can’t put you through that, if I start to talk I won’t stop, something’s wrong with me and something is wrong with the world, my mind isn’t working properly and it’s malfunctioning so if I open my mouth I won’t—_

“Talk to me,” Luke says, but it’s not said in an overbearingly concerned type of way, the tone that Reggie hates because that type of tone makes him feel so icky. No, Luke says it casually, like he just wants to know what’s going on in Reggie’s head. “Anything interesting on your mind, dude?”

It’s an invitation, one Reggie just can’t resist. “I don’t know, like, do you remember when I learned that they made new Star Wars movies? Like, when we were at Caleb’s thingy, and, wait, I probably shouldn’t mention Caleb because bad memories or whatever. I think I watched the new movies but I fell asleep during them, isn’t it funny how sometimes the best movies can make you fall asleep? Like some sort of lullaby but a super awesome cool one, or maybe it’s just cuz the person watching is tired. Actually, now that I think about it, that makes more sense, right, Luke?”

“Yeah, Reg, I agree,” Luke says, understanding and not patronizing. Reggie knows, though, that he’s concerned. He has to be. Even Reggie is concerned for himself, but he’s started. He can’t _stop_.

“And, oh, wow, I sure am talking a lot. That’s so weird. Whenever it gets Bad I always talk a lot, don’t you notice that, Luke? And I mean I talk a lot more than usual. Not saying that I’m feeling Bad right now, but like. Yeah. Um. Anyway, I think that one day we should watch the Star Wars movies, all of them in a row like—what’s it called?—bingewatching, Julie called it bingewatching! But we should watch them in the morning or afternoon, so no one falls asleep like the movies are a lullaby. I think the morning is fine. Hey, it’s like 7 in the morning right now, Luke. Isn’t that funny?”

“Funny, yeah, are you still tired?” Luke asks. The concern is starting to seep into his voice, and it makes Reggie choke up a little. He breathes as deeply as he can, from where his face is mushed in between the pillow and Luke’s arm. 

“Exhausted, but also not,” Reggie says. He can’t phrase it any other way. He’s drained but so full of bursting energy at the same time, or maybe, what he _thinks_ is energy. Maybe he’s just brimming with all the unsaid words and it’s making him feel all busy and overrun inside, because on a Good Day, he would still be brimming with words but they’re words that make him feel _good_. Not words that are being said for the sake of extracting all the Bad inside of him.

Luke hums sympathetically. His arm has not moved a single inch, even though it’s sure to be cramping by now, and Reggie is still drumming his fingers on it. “Wanna try to go back to sleep? We can cuddle—”

“What’s all the mumblin’ about?” Alex mutters, voice thick with sleep, and, _oh no, I woke him up. Fuck. Everything is wrong with me and now Alex is awake, too…_

“Reggie is talking,” Luke explains shortly, and Reggie can’t miss the slight emphasis on the word _talking_ , something to signify to Alex that this is because Reggie is on the teetering edge of Bad, and not because he’s an asshole who wants to ramble at 7 o’something in the morning. 

“Tha’ right?” Alex says after a moment of comprehension. Then there’s sudden shifting on the bed, the mattress dipping as Alex sits up, probably to get a better look at Reggie. “...Reg, dunno if you know this, but it’s hard to look at you when your face is all pressed in between the pillow and Luke’s bicep like that.”

Reggie reluctantly turns his head so that he can peek at Alex. The sun has risen considerably at this point, so that its light spills over the rest of the studio and licks at Alex’s face, accentuating those sharp features, the same features that are softening with gentle concern. “Hey,” Alex says, one word.

“Hi,” Reggie says, voice sounding all too disconnected and tired.

“Reg.” Alex reaches out and gently brushes his fingers against Reggie’s shoulder, making the skin go through a soft shudder, the touch electric and it fills Reggie with such indescribable yearning that it hurts. He wants more, maybe he can ask Alex for a hug, Alex gives the best hugs. Before he can even think about asking, however, Alex continues, “Come here. Get in between us.”

Reggie blinks. “I—wait, what, why?”

“So we can, like, snuggle you or whatever,” Alex says, fingers lingering on Reggie’s shoulder, an open invitation, warm and saturated with morning sunlight. It alleviates the pressure in Reggie’s chest just slightly, but it doesn’t help much with the way he’s still feeling all Bad and Wrong and kind of like he wants to die, which is funny because he’s already dead. “I know you want that, Reg.”

Reggie isn’t given much of a choice, really, not when Alex begins to lightly tug on his shoulder as a signal for him to listen and go in between the two boys. This new change, however, meant people had to move and Reggie’s pretty little temporary world will shatter because if he moves, he’s probably going to shatter, too. Which means, when Luke moves his arm a bit in order to let Reggie move to his expected spot in between them, Reggie mewls a bit in panic and only tightens his hold without intending to.

_Fuck—_

He wants to relinquish his hold, maybe even say something like, _“Sorry, Luke!”_ but the words don’t leave (which is also funny for a second time, considering just a few moments earlier he couldn’t stop rambling), and his grip doesn’t slacken. He needs him. Needs a grounding force, so bad, _so fucking bad_. He can’t feel any more bad than he knows he’s getting, even if the fear of rejection shoots through his chest cavity and tears a bullet through the vessel.

“Not goin’ anywhere, Reg,” Luke says, a hushed promise if Reggie has ever heard one. But it falls upon deaf ears, because Reggie is having trouble listening and thinking and just _existing_ all at once. “I swear on it. Lemme just move you, okay? So you can be in between me and Alex?”

He shakes his head, then nods, then shakes his head again. He doesn’t want to move. He just wants to lie down and talk, lie down and talk, lie down and wallow in the way it feels like the world is falling apart right now. There’s a brief moment of silence, one he knows is being occupied with Alex and Luke sharing a gaze drenched with worry.

“I’ll scoot over—you have to scoot with me, though—then Alex can take your spot on that side of the bed, so you can be in the middle. Does that work, Reg? If we do that, you don’t have to let go of my arm, ‘cause I know you don’t wanna let go, which is totally okay! Just, a solution. Yeah.”

(It’s so considerate, so selfless and so very saturated with love and oozing with sweetness. Reggie feels like he doesn’t deserve it. He definitely doesn’t deserve Luke.)

And because Reggie is an empty shell of himself at this point, he nods a little bit; he’s willing to take any chance of comfort and love he’s going to be getting, but it’s only because his stupid brain keeps fucking things up and makes him _need_ to have physical touch and makes him _need_ to be soothed and makes him _need_ to be made aware that the world isn’t going to fall apart and shatter at a single feeble touch.

“Sounds good to me,” Alex says, voice honest _(so he_ **_doesn’t_ ** _think I’m annoying? Is he okay with this?)_ and soft, even though Alex is always soft—never hard or brusque, just gentlegentlegentle—it alleviates some of the trickling Bad inside of Reggie that’s fighting to stay swimming in his stomach. It’s like a seed, planted and rooted already, vines curling around his intestines and wrapping around his ribcage. Gosh, he just wants it to fucking _go away._

Luke waits, probably for Reggie to give the approval that it’s okay to start moving, like he knows that Reggie will have another minor panic if Luke moves without warning again. Heart aching and clenching, Reggie nods again, slightly nudging Luke’s arm again in the process. 

“Okay, moving now!” Luke says, voice bright and yet all the more reassuring, in a way that makes the vines tremble. He begins to scoot softly, making sure to pause in between movements to make sure Reggie is okay with it, which is so fucking _considerate_ that it hurts so, so bad. 

Finally, after what feels like hours even though he’s vaguely aware it had to have taken only a few seconds, he believes that he’s successfully situated in the middle now (it’s a bit hard to tell because his mind is still all mushy and muddled), Alex having moved to take Reggie’s old spot.

“Can, uh, can we touch you?” Luke asks, because he always asks. Always asks, because Luke twists all his actions with such utter kindness and fondness and he asks for consent before physical contact when he knows that Reggie is on edge. “It’s okay if no. Anything is okay. You’re okay, too, y’know.”

It sounds like a lie, because Reggie probably looks as not-okay as he feels. “You can. Um. Touch me, that is.” He doesn’t have to say anything else. Luke and Alex know their boundaries, and they can recognize when Reggie starts to feel too overwhelmed or overstimulated, which is relievingly convenient because Reggie sometimes doesn’t even know what to say or do if the world starts to feel all twisted and the touches start to become too much for his own touch-starved skin to handle.

At the approval, Alex’s hand ghosts across Reggie’s arm, waiting, before slinking under it so he can wrap it around Reggie’s torso. The touch is loose, not too tight, just perfect enough to leave room for Reggie to breathe and leave him room to revel in it all at the same time. Reggie has his eyes closed so he can’t see; just focuses, doesn’t know on what, but he does.

Luke’s free arm (the one not being held captive by Reggie) comes and his hand finds a place to rest on Reggie’s leg, an unsecure hold so he doesn’t have to strain so hard to reach over. 

Reggie swallows, thickly and it burns his throat. He’s here, in the middle of his two most important people in the world, but he still feels so ugly and marred inside, like he’s been shaken upside down and forced to deal with the dizziness that comes after. Typically being in between them would make everything feel all sorts of okay again, but nothing like that comes. He’s not surprised—he’s vaguely aware he’s more free-falling than getting to feeling better anytime soon—but still. Still.

Reggie startles a bit when Luke’s hand moves from his leg to on top of Reggie’s own, tapping on it once before gently holding it. Reggie lets him move his hand from Luke’s arm, traveling down until it reaches Luke’s own hand. 

“Here,” Luke whispers.

Reggie hesitates a slight moment before he begins to play with Luke’s fingers, something grounding and real. It’s odd and he feels stupid about it but he continues anyway because his head is jumbled and Luke is letting him do this—play with his fingers, which is weird, it’s _definitely_ weird—

“It’s not weird,” Luke says quickly, like he read Reggie’s mind. “Whatever helps you helps you, and it’s all valid either way, Reg.” Alex gives a hum of agreement from Reggie’s other side.

So Reggie, after another bout of hesitation, begins to prod at Luke’s fingers again. He runs his own fingers along the smooth skin and grips at it and pinches at it in different ways, fidgeting, but it’s also very comforting in the type of way that feels almost forbidden, even if Luke and Alex tells him it’s fine.

They have to say that, don’t they? They _have_ to be nice to him. Reggie would be far from surprised if they really did think this was weird and he was pathetic for being such a child and needing to be taken care of this way.

The unpleasant thought makes Reggie squeeze one of Luke’s fingers way too hard as a response, and even though Luke doesn’t complain, Reggie relinquishes his hold immediately in a haze of panic. “Sorry—”

“It’s okay, I promise,” Luke says reassuringly, “Keep going. For as long as you need.”

And so they lie there, every second feeling like an hour and every hour feeling like five; Reggie fidgeting with Luke’s hand, Alex breathing softly as his arm curls around Reggie’s torso. Reggie takes the time to try and go numb, to maybe separate him from all the Bad that’s still rumbling inside of him, because if he’s numb he won’t feel, and if he won’t feel then he won’t feel Bad.

(His logic is flawed, he knows, but he’s desperate.)

And it’s not like they’ve never been in this position before. Reggie has a hazy memory, but they’ve always loved him like this even when he felt like he didn’t deserve it. They’re at the point where affection isn’t weird, but it’s not overused to a big extent; after all, Alex usually likes initiating hugs (and Reggie, too, when he feels like it). In fact, it’s natural, especially during the times where they had only been solid to each other—now that they can be solid at times, Julie joins in on hugs, which is, like, one of the best things that’s ever happened to them.

“Reg, do you remember that dog we saw on the beach yesterday?” Alex asks, voice ringing out in the room as the world around them begins to wake up with the yawning sun. 

Reggie squirms a little bit, tugging softly on one of Luke’s fingers. “...But we see a lot of dogs.”

“Oh. Right, You’re right. The one that barked at you, then.”

Luke snickers, but not unkindly. Reggie can only guess that Alex is trying to talk to him like Luke does when he’s feeling inherently Bad, and it’s an effort so special that Reggie chokes up a little.

“...Yeah, he—he was a husky dog and he could see me, ‘cause dogs can see ghosts, right? That’s a thing, right?” Reggie really doesn’t want to start rambling off again, but a word-vomit would especially help clear him of any sticky bad feelings lurking inside. “That’s not the first time a dog barked at me, actually, isn’t that cool? Can dogs brag to other dogs, like, ‘I saw so many ghosts today’ because if I was a dog, I’d definitely brag about the undead to you guys. And—I’m sorry, shit, I’m sorry, I keep talking….”

“Hey,” Luke says, the hand that Reggie is playing with soon wrapping itself around Reggie’s own hand and giving it a faint squeeze, some sort of symbol of comfort, or hope, or maybe both. “No, keep going, man. I wanna hear it! I mean, if I was a dog, I’d definitely brag about all of that stuff to you guys, too!”

Reggie can feel the beginnings of a smile tug at the corners of his lips. “Really?”

“Me, too,” Alex says, encouraging, soft and yet firm. “I bet I’d probably happen to see the most ghosts to brag about.”

Luke makes a noise. “Okay, that’s just not even a fact and you’re stating it like it is one.”

“It _is_ a fact.”

Luke and Alex go on to bicker, Reggie throwing in a comment every once in a while, but the sounds of their clashing voices play as soft white noise in the background of his head, in the way that’s not overwhelming but not underwhelming, either. It’s homey, and good, and it feels like cherry blossoms and ocean salt—the kind that Reggie swears he tastes on his tongue.

He loves this. Loves _them_.

Luke squeezes his hand again somewhere along the way, a silent question, a voiceless _are you okay, do you still feel Bad?_

And he’s still feeling very not okay, but he’s also floating in that gray area between Good and Bad; but as the morning sun crawls along the room and hides itself in the corners, with Alex and Luke muttering to fill the empty spaces the sunlight can’t, there’s that part of him that’s telling him he can be okay. Not right now, but later. Soon, maybe. 

They love you, they love you. 

Reggie turns his face and presses even closer to Luke’s side, Alex’s arm tightening the slightest bit against his waist. He breathes in for the right amount of seconds, holds it, and breathes it out just as long.

Then, when he’s ready, he squeezes Luke’s hand in return.

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments are always appreciated :D also this is unedited so lmk if u spot mistakes!! okay that's all :D thank you for reading!


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